When America was finally able to drag himself away from the computer, he shakily began to make his way to his own bedroom. He needed to lie down. Making his way down the hallway, he felt as though he was treading on eggshells, like each precarious step could potentially break something. No, it was more than just that. It was like he was treading on shards of broken glass. He had an equal chance of breaking the glass further and of cutting his feet upon the shards.

Treading silently—aided in no small part by his thick socks—America tiptoed to his room. And his door was closed. He shivered almost imperceptibly, not wanting to have to open his door. What if something horrifying was there?

Worse, what if nothing was there?

Steeling himself, America pushed open the door, becoming more disconcerted with each inch it opened. Finally, the door was far enough open to stick his head inside. At first, he though that everything was normal. The blue walls, the stars, and the red and white stripes represented on most everything in the room seemed completely undisturbed. And there was his comforter, normally colored to look like his flag.

Instead of finding this, however, he looked over to discover that there were toy stuffed animals completely covering the bed. Not even a single star peeked out from beneath the toys. That wasn't all, though. Each stuffed animal—all fifty of them—had a full set of human teeth. In fact, several of them appeared to have a pair of human eyes as well. For the second time that day, America had to choke back a scream of shock and terror.

It wasn't just that the stuffed animals were creepy—that wasn't it. The toys alone would not have been enough to even approach being able to elicit such a reaction from him. No, it was just that, well, there was a particular small white stuffed animal. Just from where he was standing, America could tell that it was no toy. It was a bona fidestuffed animal. As in, kill the animal, preserve it with chemicals, and remove its innards to fill it with stuffing. And the most disturbing thing about it was that it bore a strong resemblance to someone America knew. In fact, it almost looked like...

Kumajirou.

Worse yet, the bear—no, Kuma—had a pair of human eyes. Purple eyes. Canada's eyes. So, would that mean... Kuma also had Canada's teeth, too?

A look of stricken horror grew across America's face, and he slowly backed out of his room. For a moment, he though he saw the bear—Kuma, he reminded himself—turn its head to look at him. However, a closer look revealed that Kuma was just looking at the wall. Strange. America could've sworn... besides, Kuma was a stuffed bear. That meant he was dead. Dead bears don't look at things. That was just impossible.

Casting one last dubious and slightly fervent glance back at the bear, america shut his bedroom door with a quiet snick. Shakily, he made his way back down the hallway to England's room, hugging the white wall all the while. He turned the knob, the door making a tiny click sound as it swung inwards. Hastily, America went to draw the curtains, but not before turning on the small table lamp next to the bed.

At the window, America finally realized how late it was getting. The sun was setting, and he shivered involuntarily. Nighttime. That dreaded time of day when the light bled from the land, plunging everything into darkness. Prime time for the creepy-crawlies to come out. No way did he want to spend the night in this house of horrors. Unfortunately, though, he had to. The only way to avoid such a thing would be to leave, which would also mean he would have to exit the house. Outside. In the dark. All alone.

Well, now he was just scaring himself. Surely it was nothing. America tried hard to convince himself of this. Yes, tomorrow, everything would be back to normal. Or, better yet, he would wake up in his own room., everything just as it was before the day had begun. Maybe he was only having a nightmare, and it would all go away, to be replaced by a perfectly normal Friday. Yes, that was definitely it.

Burrowing deep beneath the white comforter, America let out a small sigh, though whether one of relief or contentment, even he was not sure. He quickly flicked the light switch off, plunging the room into darkness. It was not until then that he realized he had forgotten to get changed into his nightclothes. Oh well. Too late now.

Also, he didn't think he'd be able to muster up the courage to allow even his arm to slip out from beneath the covers. Damn. He should've just kept that stupid light on.

Hoping to have a peaceful night of rest, America snuggled down further beneath the covers on England's bed. Despite his emotional fatigue from such a trying day, he lay awake for quite some time, staring into the pitch black. His eyes remained open like that, gazing at nothing, for quite some time.

It wasn't until several hours later that America was finally able to fall into a deep, deep slumber.

The morning came slowly. America had woken up at around 5:00 in the morning, and had been unable to fall back asleep. Thus, he had been forced to lay awake for countless hours while he awaited the sunrise. Finally, soft shafts of morning light began to filter in around the curtains. At long last, America allowed himself to move. Ever so slowly he stretched, yawning widely.

He swung his legs out onto the floor, sliding out from beneath the warm blankets. His bare feet met a cold wooden floor, and he hastily hopped onto the soft carpet. He had forgotten that he'd taken off his socks. Letting out a soft sigh, America began to shuffle across the carpeted floor, heading towards the door.

America desperately hoped that today would be a normal day. He didn't feel like dealing with any of the horrors of the previous night. And, despite the soft, peaceful shafts of autumn light streaming in through the windows, he felt uneasy. Dealing with such a nerve-wracking situation was not what he'd had planned for the weekend. Treading lightly, he made his way back towards his room. A floorboard creaked, and he tensed up, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. He glanced around once, then twice, his heart pounding against his ribcage and his legs shaking, but not a single dust mote stirred.

It was as though time itself had stopped.

For a long moment, America stood very still, adrenaline pumping through his veins, until slowly, slowly, he dared to make a move. Placing one cautious foot on the floorboard in front of him, America paused once more to listen for any sign of threat. In all truthfulness, he was terrified. However, he was still not prepared to admit that, even to himself.

By the time he reached his room, America was struggling to keep his breathing under control. In fact, he worried that he was going to start hyperventilating soon if he didn't make a conscious effort to calm his breathing. That feeling of being watched never left or changed, either. He wondered what the strange sense of being followed meant. Pushing back all thought, America peeked into his room again. He stumbled backwards, as though hit with a great force, swallowing back the scream threatening to tear its way from his mouth.

Shaking, America peeked inside his room again. A disturbing sight met his wide eyes. Although he couldn't quite put a finger on what it was that was so disturbing about it. After all, it was just another toy bear. He checked his bed, which had inexplicably been cleared of toys. Now, the only thing out of place left was the big bear sitting in the middle of the room. It seemed mostly like a normal bear, with brown cloth and two little eyes. Two beady little eyes that seemed almost to be boring into America… Damn. Something about that bear was incredibly creepy. America sidled around the edges of his room until he reached the shelf near his bed, grabbing the sharp stick from it. He had never thrown that stick out after he was done playing with it, and now, he was pretty glad about that. Cautiously creeping up towards the bear, America prodded it with the stick. After several times, he concluded that it was not going to react. Not yet, at least.

He had the absurd notion that it was asleep. Even though it was just a toy.

That feeling of uneasiness again began to press in, that feeling that started in the pit of his stomach and made him nauseous. Sadly, America was beginning to become used to this. This feeling of trepidation.

Circling the bear at a safe distance, America set to work examining it, trying to figure out what exactly was so terrible about this bear. A creak of floorboards, then, was quite the unwelcome surprise, startling America once more. All muscles tensed up, eyes focused intently on the bear, America waited for something to happen. When nothing did, America still did not lower his guard. He knew that it was more than likely that nothing would happen, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of dread, as though something was sneaking up on him. Like something was closing in on its prey. Which just so happened to be, well, him. America turned his full attention to the bear once more, determined to figure out what made it so scary. After all, knowing may help him stop being afraid of it. Closer and closer he ventured, daring even to poke its left foot. Still, nothing happened.

America was starting to get worried.

Firstly, it still seemed so menacing, yet it was doing nothing. That was odd, and it was actually pretty creepy. How do plush animals emit an aura? Secondly, he felt that something could happen soon. The longer nothing happened, the greater the chance was that the bear would do something creepy soon. Also, he still hadn't discovered the source of his fear of this large bear. Its size alone could not be the answer, and thus, America continued his search for answers. Somehow, he just couldn't fathom leaving the room without knowing. He told himself that it was simply because it could follow him if he didn't find out why, but deep down, he knew it was just an excuse to satisfy his curiosity, as well as help rid himself of his fear.

Heroes, after all, did not feel fear. They faced the danger.

The only question now was this: what exactly was the danger?

Suddenly, America saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Had the bear just… move? Stumbling backwards, he watched the bear, not daring to look away, even for a second. There! There it was again! The bear, it just… it just… blinked. Again. Even though it didn't seem to have eyelids…

Shuddering, America reached for the doorknob. Realizing he was not, in fact, in front of the door, he cowered back into the corner. The door was on the entire other side of the room. The bear had more than enough time to attack.

Shit, he thought. When will this be over? He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable.

Nothing happened.

America cracked open his eyes, prepared for the worst. He was not, however, expecting to see the bear still sitting there, not moving. Maybe he had just imagined it blinking. America sighed for what must have been the fourth or so time that day. He was relieved that the toy had not decided to maul him. Then again, it had already had plenty of chances, so he probably shouldn't be that surprised. Still, though. He was extremely relieved. Eventually, he managed to work up the courage to get closer to the bear. While examining the bear's face, he noticed something quite unusual about it.

Its eyebrows were very thick, almost like…

Shit. They were those eyebrows, weren't they?

Suddenly, America couldn't stand being that room one second more. He ran for the door, yanking it open and slamming it shut. For a moment, he leaned against the outside of the closed bedroom door, waiting for his heartbeat to become regular again. Why had that disturbed him so much? Well, he had his answer. It had England's eyebrows. Then, America reminded himself that maybe they weren't really England's eyebrows. Maybe the were just… duplicates. Yeah, they were fake. That was it. He certainly wasn't worried or even considering that those eyebrows were the real thing.

Then again… maybe he should go check? After all, at least he knew the bear wasn't going to attack him. Even though it was creepy… it was way less creepy that just hanging out in the hallway. At least in the room, he knew what he was facing. Here, any new threat could appear. And this time, it could actually be a threat.

Resigning himself to his decision, America slowly turned the doorknob. The door clicked open, and he peeked in. The bear was gone. And now, so was America's feeling of temporary comfort.

Fortunately, he was a little calmer than yesterday, and—he hated to say it, but it was the truth—America was actually getting quite used to this feeling of unease. That lurking sense of a deeper, hidden threat was still there, but America had been able to shove it to the back of his mind. Still, he knew his goosebumps weren't going anywhere, anytime soon.

America wondered if maybe he should go back to England's room, maybe dive under the covers and not come out. Not until the day had passed and Monday morning had come. Yes, maybe he should do that. America reached the door to England's room and reached to turn the doorknob. The knob wouldn't turn. It seemed like it was locked. But how? Who? Who had locked the door?

Run ning his fingers nervously through his hair, America slowly backed away from the door, unwilling to accept that the door was now locked. Eventually, though, he turned on his heels and made his way down the hall. Maybe he would try the kitchen again. After all, he hadn't eaten dinner last night, and he hadn't had breakfast yet. Hopefully, the jars of body parts that had been in the fridge last night would be gone. It made sense that they would be. Things were always appearing and disappearing. Again, America was forced to face the fact that he was actually getting used to the strange way things worked in his house now.

He crept down the stairs, keeping to the sides of the stairs to prevent them from creaking. Admittedly, he was kind of worried. As he made his way towards the refrigerator, America could feel his legs getting shakier and shakier. What if the jars of body parts actually hadn't been removed from the fridge?

Or what if there was something else waiting for him in there?

Quit scaring yourself, America scolded himself. Nothing's going to be there. Everything is just fine. It's all going to be just fine.

And yet, he couldn't quite get himself to believe it.

America began having second thoughts about getting food from the fridge, but decided that he'd already come this far. The fridge door swung open, and America felt huge relief as he realized nothing was off about its contents anymore. He rummaged around the refrigerator until he found some food he felt like eating. After heating it up in the microwave, America put it on a napkin and decided to bring it around with him as he explored. Sure, he knew the house front to back, but he was convinced that something would be different. Also, he still hadn't given up on finding England.

After several hours of fruitless searching, America decided it was time to go back to England's room. Maybe it was unlocked by now. And maybe—hopefully—England was there.

A thumping came from upstairs, and America decide that maybe he actually shouldn't go back to England's room. Whatever had made that thumping sound, America didn't particularly want to deal with it.

Having finally settled into the strange new ways the house worked, America didn't particularly mind staying as he was. He had found that nothing strange happened when he was in a room. Only when he left, and then returned, did he find something strange. Therefore, staying in one room until England showed himself was actually a good plan. Even though he really wanted to find England himself. America sat down on the couch, glad that he was in the living room. Despite being more used to the way things were happening, his nerves were still on edge. That took a lot of energy out of him, and he wondered if maybe he should take a nap while waiting for England to come back. He had to still be around, right?

America lay down on the couch, reaching for the blanket folded at the bottom of it. He pulled the soft, thick blanket over himself and closed his eyes. Perhaps England would come out while he was sleeping. Or maybe America would be able to sleep until tomorrow. Then… wait. Wait a second. Why did he think that he needed to wait until Monday to leave the house? Why didn't he just walk out?

Mentally kicking himself, America slowly lifted himself up off the couch, heading for the front door. The door opened with no problems, and America again berated himself for not thinking of this sooner. Really, he had been a real idiot. It was so obvious; he could literally just walk to one of his friends' houses.

Jeez. He had been such an idiot.

America walked down the driveway, a feeling of anxiety rising up. He wondered if maybe that creepy feeling he kept getting would turn out to be real. As in, maybe the threat would show itself now that he was trying to leave.

After many long minutes of walking, America realized that he was not getting anywhere. He kept putting one foot in front of the other, and he seemed to be walking forwards. However, he could never seem to even reach the end of the driveway. America slowed to a stop, wondering what to do next. He eventually decided to go back inside. Maybe he could… well, he didn't exactly know what. Turning back to the house, America realized that England's car was no longer in the driveway. What had happened to it?

That oh-so familiar feeling of unease began to return, and America resigned himself to being plagued by many other such feelings.

America realized that the sky was growing dark with clouds, and decided he had better head back inside. He didn't really feel like being soaked. He had enough to deal with without adding sopping wet to the mix.

Feeling quite exhausted, America trudged back inside and headed upstairs the England's room. Somehow, he didn't really feel too scared. Or maybe he was just used to the feeling by now, so it didn't really register. Either way, America was too exhausted to really bother listening for strange noises. He pulled back the covers and crawled into the bed, feeling the soft blankets cocoon around him, holding in his body heat and keeping him warm. Sighing contentedly and snuggling down under the covers, America drifted off.

From inside the walls, a small voice spoke.

"I see that you are dreaming peacefully. Well, I hope that all your dreams come true. But keep in mind that nightmares are dreams, too."

America slept on, and the tiny voice's owner quietly slipped away. It would be back… another day.

A/N: I'm not really into Hetalia anymore, so I won't be continuing my old fanfiction. However, this is the only one I might (note: MIGHT) consider continuing. All other stories will only be edited/rewritten, but not continued. Sorry.

This has been a psa.